I simply have no excuse for this. It started as a prompt I posted on the fanfic subreddit, in an effort to simply remove the idea from my head and release it into the wild.

Sadly, no such luck.

Things rather morphed and twisted as they're wont to in my head, and I ended up accidentally cultivating yet another AU. In this one, Harry is a girl, the Weasley children are septuplets and all starting the same year, and Hermione is a boy who was born three weeks premature, thus making him a second-year while the rest are first years.

Also, Arthur is the head of the DMLE and arrested Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Their one-year-old daughter was then given over to her only remaining relative not in prison, Andromeda Tonks.

Oh, and Alice Longbottom survived her torture with her faculties intact and has coped with her episode. She's now the single mother of Neville and rather on the outs with Augusta Longbottom due to her family's treatment of Neville while he was growing up.

Anyway, there are other differences I'm sure I've forgotten, but let's find them together!

Chapter One: The Girl-Who-Lived

It was a good day today.

Lately, there were plenty more good days than bad. She was rarely hungry anymore, she slept blissfully curled up in the corner of The Hide, and there were people around her that actually seemed to care about her well-being. Lately, it had become much easier to muster out a word or two, such as when she'd begged Biscuits to at least split a sandwich with her instead of making her eat the whole thing and going hungry herself.

Biscuits, unable to say no when Zinnia actually worked forth the words for it, had given her a smirk…and taken the smaller half.

"You growing thing, you'd best not complain," she'd told her warningly.

Biscuits was Zinnia's favorite, though she loved all of her new friends. Older than Zinn by a few years, she was the sort of warm and kind girl that Zinn thought would be a great older sister, maybe even someone's mum someday. She was scrawny, like everyone in their group, but there was a hardness to her, like she was made of wires and rebar. She always kept her hair long even though it was a hazard if she had to get into a scrap. Always, she claimed it was her best feature, beautiful and blonde as it was. Zinn had insisted that her lovely brown eyes were a close second, which had earned her an affectionate punch to the shoulder.

That was how you knew she liked you.

Biscuits was also the reason today was such a good day, because she had landed herself a job. Sure, it was as a clerk at the local convenience store, but it was paying.

"Bloody won't probably last more than a couple weeks, but we'll have a wee nest egg, at least."

Zinn nodded at the sentiment, smiling as she kicked her feet. Perched high on a stool near the lone counter in the store, she had a comic book open in her lap and was paging through it while Biscuits (her nametag introduced her as 'Kate', which she insisted was not her real name) went about her six-hour shift. The manager had taken one look at the pair and simply shrugged while insisting Zinn not go running down the aisles.

"What're you reading, then?" Biscuits asked her, and Zinn held the comic up. Biscuits, though, shook her head. "Nuh-uh, can't read today, Zin-Zin. Who's it about?"

Zinn pouted at Biscuits, who grinned at her as she leaned on the counter.

"C'mon, I'm wearing this foul apron and this horrible hat and calling myself Kate to earn us a couple of bob, you can squeeze out the name of a comic," she insisted.

Huffing, Zinn hid her face behind the comic. Squeezing out words was difficult, but at least Biscuits had stopped asking her to push them out. For some reason, when asked to push, it was harder to speak. It was too forceful.

"In…" she tensed at the sound of her own voice, but it was okay to speak. She could do it. Biscuits would like it if she did. She would be proud. "In…h-humans."

"Got that one from Declan, did you?" Biscuits asked. "He loves Inhumans for some reason."

"L-like…B…B…" she always got stuck on B sounds most of all, and her luck, her favorite Inhuman had two of them. "B…lack…Bolt."

"That's…actually really cute," Biscuits giggled, reaching out to play fondly with her hair. "Doesn't his voice blow stuff up, so he doesn't talk at all?"

Zinn nodded at that, miming a scream, and Biscuits snorted in a laugh, idly braiding a Zinn's long black hair. It was untameably wavy most days, and Zinn's most common solution was to pull it away from her face and tuck it into a hat, but she'd forgotten to bring one today, excited as she had been to join Biscuits at her new job.

"You should keep your hair back and show off your pretty face," Biscuits insisted. "Look at those cute little freckles of yours."

Her pout deepened, and Zinn let a cross little whine. "N-nooot…c-c…c-cute!"

"Zin-Zin, you are adorable," Biscuits insisted. "And you have such pretty eyes, too! Give 'em to me!"

"N-no, they're…m-m-mine," Zinn said with a grin at her, covering her eyes. They were hazel, a color that Biscuits was apparently intensely jealous of. Zinn, however, thought Biscuits's brown eyes were rather fetching as well. "T…t-t…trade."

"Oh, that's an idea," Biscuits said, looking up as the door slid open. A tall black man with a head of wiry hair and a thick pair of glasses gave the two a small wave as he strode into the store. "Oi, Declan, we're trading eyes."

Declan stared at her nonplussed for a moment, squinting through his thick spectacles. "You sure you want these?"

"Not yours, you idiot," Biscuits snickered. "What would I want with those specs of yours?"

"You'd make 'em look good, I'll bet," Declan said as he made his way to the counter. Despite his height, he was reedy in a willowy way and not made of iron and nails like Biscuits. On more than one occasion, Biscuits had threatened to wallop him if he didn't stop being so very Declan.

Zinn was pretty sure they were in love.

"What're you doing here, anyway?" Biscuits asked him. "Surely you didn't come all the way here just to buy some crisps."

"What if I did?" Declan asked, and Zinn giggled. Declan peered over at her with a frown. "What?"

"M-missed h…her," Zinn insisted, and Declan pointed a finger at her, causing her to wince a bit.

"Oi, that's not true," he said.

"Declan, what've we said about pointing?" Biscuits asked, and Declan's eyes went to his finger, which he dropped.

"Right," he said. "Sorry, squirt."

"No p…problem," Zinn told him with a smile. "Th…thanks for…the c-com…mic."

"Yeah, no problem," Declan said. "I've only got about an 'undred of 'em stacked back at The Hide, so lemme know if you want more."

He chatted with Biscuits for a bit while Zinn let herself be absorbed in the world of the Inhumans, of Medusa and Black Bolt and the hidden city of Attilan. The Inhumans were fun to read about because they were a family of special people that all stuck together and combined their powers to save the day. Sometimes she thought it would be fun to use the terrigen gas and see if any of their group had powers.

Biscuits would definitely have some sort of super strength. Or the power to just make things explode.

Goodness, there'd be nothing left of London if she did.

When the evening-shifter came in, Biscuits told Zinn to wait while she deposited her apron and hat and collected her purse, leaving Zinn to wander the aisles. Together, the pair of them walked through a golden London evening, watching the sky shift to pink before darkening to blue.

"Beautiful, innit?" Biscuits asked her, and Zinn nodded eagerly.

"Fffavorite color is…that b-b…blue," she said, pointing at the sky, which was a lovely color she couldn't put a name to.

"Twilight blue," Biscuits said, because she knew every color there was. "I've got that one in my paints. Hey, wanna paint when we get back?"

"Y-y…y…uh-huh!" Zinn said with a smile. Biscuits smiled warmly down at her. "P…piggyb-b…back?"

"Hm, what's the magic word?" Biscuits asked, and Zinn stuck her tongue out.

"P…lease?" she managed, squealing in delight when Biscuits scooped her up and slung her over her back. "G-g…gid…giddy…up!"

"Onward!" Biscuits shouted, pointing forward as she took off.

…

Her earliest memories were the cupboard.

Whenever she'd been too loud, whenever she had raised any sort of fuss, whenever she had so much as questioned a command from her aunt and uncle, it had been off to the cupboard. From within, she had watched the Dursleys, watched their perfect lives unfold. Vernon, the doting father providing for his wife and son with his drill business; Petunia, the warm and caring mother lavishing her son with attention and affection every moment of every day; and Dudley, the apple of his parents' eye who could do no wrong.

And then there had been Zinnia, the freak. Extra, tacked-on.

Unwanted.

When she'd turned seven or eight, it had apparently been determined that she was old enough to contribute to the housework. Laundry, dishes, scrubbing every room in the house including the foul upstairs bathroom where Dudley always left it a putrid mess. At first, she had protested, but it had then also been determined that she was old enough now to receive a stern hand across the face or some other inventive method of physical punishment before being sent to the cupboard with no meals. Soon enough, she'd simply given up arguing and done as she'd been told. Eventually, she'd just quit talking altogether, because nine times out of ten, talking led to pain and hunger.

Sometimes, late at night with only the dark of her cupboard and the growling of her stomach to keep her company, she had simply wished she'd never been born.

One day, on the way home from the last day of school before summer break, she had simply been unable do it any longer. Paralyzed with fear right there on the sidewalk, Zinnia had found it physically impossible to bring herself to return to Privet Drive, to spending day after day toiling at endless chores while Dudley ate ice cream and watched his television and played his video games. Right then and there, she'd found herself deciding that having no home was better than what the Dursleys passed off as a home.

With only the clothes on her back and a schoolbag full of supplies, she'd run.

And two days later, half-starved and crying down an alley, she'd been found by Biscuits. Zinnia would never, as long as she lived, forget the first kind words ever spoken to her.

"Oh, look at you. Are you here all alone? Are you hungry? C'mon, you need fed."

The words echoed in her dreams, whenever things started to drift into nightmares, into memories of the cupboard and her old life. Biscuits would always come along and pull her to her feet, pull her into her happy new circumstance. Things weren't perfect by any means, but they all had each other.

And Zinn had her Biscuits.

"Zin-Zin," Biscuits whispered, and Zinn felt herself being gently pulled from another dream, this one about a flying motorcycle.

Bizarre.

Biscuits was crouching near Zinn's sleeping bag, which was tucked away atop a pile of blankets in a corner of The Hide. Being the youngest, she was afforded the most creature comforts, though she insisted on sharing the blankets when nights got cold.

"M…morning," Zinn said, looking up and noticing Biscuits was all dressed to leave. "Leav—leaving? I w…wanna c-come."

"Zinn, I can't take you with me every day," Biscuits insisted with a warmly chiding tone. "We don't wanna test my boss's patience, do we? Don't worry, Declan's here, and so is Chippy."

"M-miss you," Zinn blurted, and Biscuits pulled her into a hug.

"I'll miss you, too, sweet-pea, but it's only for a few hours, alright?" she told Zinn. "You can come to work with me again on Monday, yeah?"

Zinn bit her lip, nodding and holding out her pinky, which Biscuits snickered at but quickly snagged up in her own, sealing the pinky-promise.

"Go back to sleep for a bit, hear me?" she said. "It's too early for me, but I'm part of the machine now, aren't I?"

Zinn huffed quietly, but the sleeping bag was rather comfy and warm, so she settled back in. As she felt herself already beginning to drift back off, Biscuits pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

"See you, kiddo," she whispered.

"Bye," Zinn murmured as she dozed off.

She awoke a few hours later, the muted pre-dawn sunlight having given way to a beaming golden morning that cast slanted shafts of light through the high windows of The Hide. Glowing motes of dust flitted in and out of the beams, occasionally fluttering in a draft from a broken pane. Climbing to her feet, Zinn clutched at her blanket as she made her way to The Hide's loo.

The Hide was an old brick building of an indeterminate former purpose, though popular opinion was that it had once been a newspaper printing press. The machinery had long since been cleared out, leaving a large open area that now held all manner of old and mismatched furniture. Expensive-looking leather couches, old paisley loveseats, even a massive and comfortable recliner that was perfect for naps on rainy days; all were clustered around a small black-and-white television that was currently playing some sports game while Declan dozed on the leather sofa.

Farther in the distance was the "kitchen", which was comprised of an old charcoal grill, a toaster oven, and a microwave set up on various large wooden crates and one mini-fridge. A rather large folding table and chairs had been set up as the dining area.

Upstairs were a few old offices, which they utilized as a private place to dress, as well as the bathroom, where Devo had rigged up a showerhead. For some reason, the building still had water and power; Declan theorized that it still belonged to the newspaper company and that there was some accountant out there making payments to the utility company without even realizing what he was paying for. It suited their purposes just fine.

Zinn headed up for a quick stop at the toilet before making her way to the kitchen and cobbling together a bowl of cereal. Declan mumbled a quiet morning greeting as she passed, rolling over on the couch and ambling to his feet.

"Biscuits is working," he said sleepily, yawning and fumbling for his glasses. Zinn nodded as she took a bite. "And Chippy's around here, might be out in the garden. I needa go in about half an hour, got some work in Islington."

Declan was a freelancer, though he was mum as to what he actually did. Even Biscuits was only aware that he was in something to do with music. Zinn liked to imagine he played in a band, because the image of Declan carrying on with a guitar onstage was amusing.

"Anyway…" Declan trailed off. He was never sure how to deal with Zinn alone, because Zinn tended to clam up without Biscuits around. Still, he never tried to force the words out, at least. "You gonna be alright? Need anything while I'm out?"

Zinn held up the jug of milk and gave it a shake to show that it was nearly empty, and Declan grinned at her.

"Someone needs to stop eating Weetos every meal of the day," he said. Swallowing her mouthful of cereal, Zinn stuck her tongue out at him. "Alright, I'll grab some milk on the way home. See you 'round."

Zinn waved as he left, finishing off her cereal and taking the bowl and spoon upstairs for a quick wash in the sink. Left with nothing else to do, she dressed in a pair of jeans and a thick jumper and made her way downstairs, stepping into some trainers and emerging into a cool late summer morning. It couldn't even be ten o'clock yet; the sun was still making its way up to the top of the sky. In the distance, the low rush of a London day was just audible, though much louder was the sound of music from a nearby portable radio.

"Is there so much hate for the ones we love?
Oh, tell me, we both matter, don't we?
You, it's you and me.
It's you and me won't be unhappy."

Joining the song on the radio, Zinn could hear Chippy's voice in accompaniment, belting the words at the top of her lungs. Smiling at the woman's enthusiasm, she picked her way through the tall grass and uneven ground to the back of The Hide, where a raised garden had been set up facing the waterfront. Chippy was quite the green thumb, and she always had something growing even in the dead of winter. Apparently, it was time to plant carrots, which she was doing with the utmost enthusiasm.

"Hey, little Zinny," Chippy said. "About time you got outside, you do need full sun exposure after all."

Zinn rolled her eyes at that; it was Chippy's go-to joke, along with other amusing comparisons to her flower namesake. Chippy was older, maybe the same age as Aunt Petunia, though she was infinitely nicer. Short and solid, she bore a head of curly brown hair that was prematurely flecked with gray.

"Hope I didn't wake you up, but I just have to sing along with Kate Bush," Chippy went on. "The woman can sing your feelings right out of your heart, I'm telling you."

Zinn shook her head, smiling as she watched the woman dance about the garden. Chippy had at some point been in prison, a fact she admitted freely but didn't care to elaborate on. That seemed to be a theme with most of the occupants of The Hide; they were all pleasant enough but loath to discuss the past. Evidently, it was hard for her to hold a job, which had made it difficult to keep a place to live. With nowhere else to turn, she had found her way to The Hide.

That was another theme among them; castoffs with nowhere else to go. Despite that, there was nowhere else Zinn would have rather been.

After some time puttering around the garden while Chippy went about the various intricacies of the hobby, Zinn grew a bit restless and made her way back into The Hide. On the loveseat, watching an episode of Whose Line is it Anyway?, there sat Mads and Devo.

"Oi, mouse," Mads shot at Zinn, and she tensed up at the terseness in her voice. "Why do you always do that, like I'm about to beat you or something? Just wondering where Bizzy's gone?"

Mads (full name Madison, but do not call her that) was apparently a friend of Biscuits's from back in their primary school days. With hair that changed color at least two times a week and a dress sense that exemplified the color black, she was a mean-looking girl, which was only appropriate given how mean she actually was. Thankfully, it was only in a standoffish sort of way and not bullying.

She was singularly unaccommodating of Zinn's…issue, however.

"W…" her throat closed around the word, feeling shaky and unable to continue at the expectant look on Mads's face, the shortness in her voice.

"Ugh, bloody hell, I'll just ask Chippy," Mads said, shooting to her feet and heading briskly toward Zinn, who felt herself lock up at the girl's angry advance. For a split-second, it was Aunt Petunia, holding a wooden spoon or a cutting board or (once) a soapy frying pan fresh from the sink. But then Mads brushed past her, leaving Zinn fighting to control her breathing.

"You alright?" Devo asked in his twanging Aussie accent. "She doesn't mean anything by it, just a rough one today, y'know?"

Devo wasn't quite as tall as Declan, but he was burly and broad, with his head always kept shaved no matter the time of year. Sometimes he even buffed it to a shine and let Zinn rub it for good luck. He and Mads were an item, though a tumultuous one. Biscuits often said they were perfect for each other, which was exactly the trouble half the time. He was nice enough to Zinn, and he had even started bring home comics for her to read after finding her constantly reading Declan's.

"Anyway, we were thinking of heading up for curry later," Devo said. "You in?"

Zinn nodded eagerly at that; she loved curry, after Biscuits had gotten her started on it. Hopefully she would be done with work in time to go along.

"Brilliant," Devo said. "We're heading out 'round noontime, so be ready."

Zinn nodded once more and skipped over to the little corner where she slept. Biscuits had strung up some blankets to act as a divider and give Zinn some semblance of having a space all her own to hide away in. The rest of them weren't terribly picky about where they slept, often crashing on a couch or in a chair or simply rolling up in a blanket on the floor. After so long in a cupboard, though, sleeping out in the open made Zinn rather a bit nervous.

Crawling onto the pile of blankets that served as her bed, Zinn spent the next hour or so reading the comics Declan and Devo had gotten for her. She would have gone to do some painting, but that was only really fun with Biscuits. She was really good at painting, while Zinn favored what Biscuits had called "the Pollack Method", which involved splattering paint in every conceivable color and a couple Biscuits had sworn Zinn had somehow invented all her own.

Soon enough, a familiar voice called into The Hide, one that had Zinn springing to her feet.

"Oi, was someone thinking of going to get curry without me?" Biscuits shouted.

"I value my life, thank you," Devo chuckled. "Besides, I wouldn't leave your little nipper alone here."

"Where is my little—there's a little Zin-Zin," Biscuits said as Zinn flew out from behind the curtains of her corner and dashed for the older girl. "Oh, incoming!"

She caught Zinn in a hug and gave her a quick spin before settling her down.

"Miss me?"

"M…Miss…me?" Zinn shot back, and Biscuits leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, right on the lightning scar on her forehead.

"Don't I always?"

…

Despite a love of curry, Zinn wasn't particularly adventurous when it came to the dish, and she tended to favor chicken tikka masala every time they went out. Biscuits always good-naturedly ribbed her for it, saying it was the most British curry there was. She preferred the spicier options, the stuff that made Zinn's eyes water just to smell. Just as she did every time they gathered up at The Curry Junction, Biscuits offered her a bite of green Thai curry, which Zinn vehemently declined, citing as usual a desire to hang onto her tastebuds.

"But it's yummy!" Biscuits said, taking a bite. "Mm, there's flavor under the spice, you know. Delish."

"All y-yours," Zinn said, scooping up a forkful of her own dish and taking a bite.

It was nice, she mused, just being at the table with all of her friends. Even Mads was always a little kinder when they were eating, which Biscuits attributed to blood sugar issues, though Zinn had no idea what that meant. Currently, the blue-haired girl was munching a bite of roghan ghosht, looking rarely content.

It was possibly this elusive disposition that led to the series of events that would come to haunt Zinnia Potter for years to come.

Mads, looking up from her plate, spotted a girl walking by hand-in-hand with a boy. The boy had bright blond hair and a stocky build similar to Devo's, while the girl was short and pixie-like, with canary-yellow locks featuring a black streak down the front. It was a perfect dye-job that almost made it look like her natural coloration. Always appreciative of a bright head of hair, Mads offered a rare unsolicited compliment to the girl.

"Oi, love the hair."

"Oh?" the girl paused, glancing at Mads and smiling. "Oh, thank you! Likewise!"

It was then that the girl's eyes quickly glanced over the party, pausing briefly on Zinn, who was currently being fussed over to keep her own hair away from "beautiful eyes" by Biscuits for the thousandth time in living memory. This had the added effect of exposing her scar, a long lightning bolt of discolored tissue that cut down over her forehead and through her eyebrow.

The yellow-haired girl paused imperceptibly, stark realization on her face before she masked it and offered a small wave.

"You lot enjoy your food!" she said, dragging the blond boy away.

"Look at you, making friends and being sociable," Devo said.

"Yeah, don't get used to it," Mads grumbled, shoulder-checking him. "You don't often see a dye-job that good. The color was flawless down to her roots."

"Must be a fresh 'do," Biscuits said, glancing down at Zin. "Should we dye your hair sometime? Twilight blue?"

"C-c…could we?" Zinn asked. "W-would…it l…look g-g…good?"

"I think it would," Biscuits said, idly pulling and twisting at Zinn's hair as they ate. She was obsessed with braiding it, it seemed, always doing so when she had a moment. Being a voracious eater, she had already finished her food and was now falling back to her new favorite hobby while Zinn slowly picked at her own plate. She ate "like a bird on a diet" according to Biscuits, though the simple fact was that Zinn wasn't really accustomed to anything resembling a normal portion. The food was delicious, and she could tell her stomach wasn't quite full yet, but there was an anxiety gnawing slightly at the pit of her, an innate worry that being full meant she had eaten too much and that Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia would punish her for it.

By the time Biscuits was finished with her work, Zinn had eaten her fill of tikka masala, along with a few extra bites that had been coaxed along by Biscuits. Feeling extremely full, she leaned against the older girl, who reached up and rubbed at her back.

"Ready to get going, sweet-pea?" she asked.

"P-piggy b…b-back?" she asked, and Biscuits snorted at her.

"Oh, I suppose I could, you needy thing," she said. Looking up, her smile melted into an apprehensive look, her wide eyes fixed on the door. As Declan started to get up across from her, she slowly reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Bobbies. Act casual."

Zinn followed her gaze to the door, where two police officers were strolling into the restaurant, glancing from table to table. One sported a heavy paunch that he seemed to be throwing around imperiously as he clutched at his truncheon. The other was a short but athletic-looking woman, her hair dark pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head. Zinn felt a jolt of fear; young as she was, she knew that some of what her friends got up to wasn't always entirely law-abiding.

"Anyone…?" Mads mouth at them, and they all shook their heads. No warrants, at least, then. Then they likely had nothing to worry about, realistically. Even so, Zinn felt a stab of nervousness as the female's eyes scanned right over her…before flitting back.

"B-B-B…Bis-Bis…" she couldn't even say her friend's name, couldn't work past the B in her nervousness. Biscuits kept slowly rubbing circles on her back.

"It'll be okay, Zin-Zin," she whispered, having apparently connected the dots. There were no warrants. But there was a report of a missing child.

They weren't here for Zinn's friends. They were here for her.

"Be ready to scarper," Biscuits hissed in a rush, turning to the others. "You lot don't know anything, right? Never seen this girl before."

"B-B…Bis – "

"I'll try to get away, we'll meet up at The Hide," Biscuits whispered.

"Oi," the male officer said to them as he drew near. "We need a word with you lot."

"The back door," Biscuits whispered in Zinn's ear. "You remember?"

Zinn couldn't even speak, couldn't beg Biscuits to make it stop, to just take her back to The Hide and make it all go away. Instead, she let herself be dragged to her feet and pushed toward the back door.

"Go!" Biscuits shouted. "Go!"

"Hey! You hold it, girl!"

Zinn ran as fast as she could move, didn't dare look back. If she had, she would have seen not only Biscuits but Declan and Devo springing to their feet to intercept the officers, to buy her enough time to make it to the back door and slam into it. Pushing it open and bursting into blinking sunlight, Zinn made a mad dash down the alley behind The Curry Junction. Maybe they would just be detained, she hoped, maybe they would be let off with a warning. She didn't know how police officers and laws worked, didn't know nearly enough about the world. Biscuits would have been able to tell her.

She hoped, beyond anything she had ever hoped for, that she would be able to see Biscuits again.

As she reached the mouth of the alley, a man was suddenly standing there, shocking her with his unexpected presence. Even more shocking was his appearance. He was tall, quite so, wearing a suit of deep purple. He had a long silver beard and hair to match, making him look like the wizard from Fantasia had gone shopping at a department store. Skidding to a stop, Zinn made an attempt to duck around the strange man, but he stuck out an arm and hooked it around her tiny middle.

"L…l…" Let me go! The words were so easy to scream in her head, but she couldn't, simply couldn't. "P…p-p…lease!"

"Zinnia, I must ask you to calm down," the man said in a smooth and level voice. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I'm here to take you home."

If this was supposed to elicit a calm reaction, he was a fool. The idea of returning home—to what society called her home—was the farthest thing from calming, laughably so.

"N-n…not…" she felt tears of frustration building, at being unable to talk, at being unable to escape, unable to get away from this man or her so-called home. Home to these people meant Privet Drive, meant Vernon and Petunia, meant misery. "N-n…no!"

"I am afraid, Zinnia, that this is non-negotiable," the man called Albus told her. "Running away as you did was very dangerous."

"H-home—d-d-danger…ous!" Zinnia squeezed out, forced out. She had to, had to convey to this man who simply didn't understand. She stomped and kicked and punched and squirmed, desperate and terrified, truly terrified at the prospect of going back, of being stuffed back into the cupboard.

"I'm afraid, Zinnia, that Number Four Privet Drive is the safest place for you at the moment," Albus Dumbledore insisted, and Zinn felt fear clutching at her chest, constricting her words, her breath. She couldn't go back, wouldn't survive being put back with…with them. Desperately, unaware that she was now sobbing, she struggled to push past the man, to leave this nightmare behind.

And then, suddenly, she knew only the blackness of unconsciousness.

When she awoke, woozy and feeling decidedly unrested, she found herself lying on a mattress. It was soft, incredibly so, though anything felt so after months of sleeping on a pile of blankets in the corner. To Zinn, however, it was too plush, like lying on a marshmallow in danger of devouring her. She sat up, biting back a sob at the familiar sight around her. Dudley's old spare room, the one that had been filled with all his cast-off and broken toys. Zinn had made the mistake once of asking why she couldn't simply have it instead of the cupboard.

She'd been made to sleep in the garage for two nights after that, to garner an appreciation for what she'd had.

The room was at least something more closely resembling a bedroom now, with a dresser and desk and bedframe all in a utilitarian white color. Most of Dudley's broken things had been apparently discarded, save for a busted telly on the desk and several dismembered action figures from a show he didn't even watch anymore.

"Welcome back, Zinnia," a familiar voice spoke, and Zinnia's head whipped around to see Albus Dumbledore sitting in a chair near the window. Outside, the sun had dipped low, late afternoon giving way to evening.

Soon, the sky would be twilight blue.

Unexpectedly, rage flared up within her, a fury so white-hot that even if she had been more able to form words, she wouldn't have been able to find any powerful enough to encompass it. On the desk, the glass screen of the telly exploded outward, the light on the bedside table beginning to flicker. Take me back, she wanted to demand. Put me back! But the words wouldn't happen. Not that this man would listen.

He'd ruined everything!

Snatching up the lamp, she pulled it away from the wall, ripping the cord, and hurled it at Albus Dumbledore. Betraying not the slightest twitch of the eyebrow, Dumbledore raised a long stick, flicking it at the lamp and redirecting it to fly at the wall, where it shattered. While the display registered somewhere in the back of her mind, Zinn was simply too lost in the swirl of hatred to acknowledge it. She stomped over and grabbed up the telly next, but it was a heavy and unwieldy thing, and she was embarrassed to realize that she could scarcely throw the thing as much as angrily drop it in his direction. Instead, she took the chair and flung it toward the old man. Another wave of his stick, and the chair was suddenly a flurry of bubbles, which fluttered uselessly out the open window.

"Zinnia, my dear girl, I would like you to listen to me," Albus told her calmly.

"I d…don't…" Zinnia sobbed, now taking up the supply of Dudley's old action figures and pelting him with them, one after the other. Only when she saw that she'd thrown several of the same ones twice did she realize that he was actually using his wand (it had to be a magic wand or something) to march them back to her. Once the last one had made its way lockstep to fall in line at her feet, she glared hatefully at him, slumping to the floor.

"I am sorry that it had to be this way," Albus said. "For your own protection, it was and still remains imperative that you live with your family."

Zinn said nothing. Not only was she constitutionally incapable, but it sounded like there was no use for it. Like all of the other adults—the teachers and neighbors and even the police—he'd simply scooped her up when she had tried to run and dumped her back with the Dursleys. The familiar claw of fear took hold when she realized that they were here, in the house most likely.

"Zinnia, dear, did your aunt and uncle tell you of your parents?" Albus asked into the ringing silence. "Of magic?"

Zinn shook her head, staring at her knees.

"You've most likely noticed, I'm sure, that I've done one or two things rather out of the ordinary since we've met," Albus said with what was probably supposed to be a disarming smile. All Zinn could think was that they hadn't met, he'd simply barged into her life and ruined it. "That is because I am what our society calls a wizard. I am capable of magic. And so were your parents. And so are you."

Still, she said nothing. There was no point. Like all the other adults, he was talking so she would listen, not to have any sort of dialogue.

"When you turn eleven, you will be able to attend Hogwarts, a school of magic," Albus went on. "I'm the headmaster there, and have been for a considerable amount of time. I do believe I've cultivated one of the finest teaching staffs the school has seen in many years. There, you will be among your peers, other children with abilities like your own, and you will grow and learn and have quite a wonderful time, I'm sure. But until then, I must ask that you remain with the Dursleys."

"W…why?" Zinn asked him.

Albus looked thoughtfully at her for a moment, a calculating expression on his face. "As you haven't been told about your parents, I am assuming you don't yet know how they lost their lives?" he asked her.

Zinn shrugged. Aunt Petunia had told her once that her parents had died in a car crash while drunk-driving, though knowing they were magic, that seemed now to be unlikely.

"Your parents," Albus went on, "were targeted by an evil wizard. A man known as Lord Voldemort. They had made themselves personal enemies of his, through their heroic actions fighting back against his tyrannical reign. Your parents, Zinnia, were heroes. And Lord Voldemort personally…saw to their deaths. And then he attempted to kill you as well."

That got her attention. Some evil dark wizard had decided to off her?

"No one is entirely sure why," Albus said, reading the question on her face. "And even more confounding, he was unsuccessful. Instead of killing you, the curse he used rebounded and struck him down instead, leaving you with only that scar on your forehead. Zinnia, you were personally responsible for the downfall of one of the most feared dark wizards in decades. You are the Girl-Who-Lived."

That was all and well, Zinn mused wryly, but then if she was such a hero, why had she been placed here for her troubles?

"I'm sure it's frustrating," Albus said. "Surely we would have been able to find better accommodations for the hero of our world. But I wanted you to grow up away from the fame, away from all of that fuss and spotlight."

She snorted at that. Well, she'd grown up away from any sort of light, in fact.

"And," Albus added, "it was important for your protection that you remain with your mother's flesh and blood. Your mother sacrificed herself, gave her life so that yours would be saved. That protection still exists within you, keeping you safe from harm."

Zinn finally looked back up at the man, glaring into his forget-me-not eyes.

"S-s…afe?" she asked. "S…s…safe here!?"

"While I will admit, I overestimated the regard that Petunia Dursley still felt for her sister," Albus said, "she still allowed you to remain here. She took you in and cared for you."

Zinn sprang to her feet, furious. Cared for her? Enslaved her was more the word! A million retorts at once piled up in her throat, blocking each other and again robbing her of words. Still, she eked out something, something that left Albus unable to hold her gaze.

"B-b…better I-I'd…j…j-just d-d…died."

She spoke no more, crawled onto the marshmallow bed and hid under the covers until Albus gave up trying to speak to her. He left as the sky painted itself twilight blue once more, and Zinn peeked out of the covers long enough to watch the color appear and then darken away, shimmering through a lens of tears.

That was supposed to be the color Biscuits dyed her hair.

As she watched, a bird swooped closer to her window—quite a large barn owl, she noticed. Crawling out from under the blankets, she reached to turn on her lamp, noting idly that Albus had apparently elected to fix it, along with the telly and the legion of toys. As a soft yellow glow filled the room, the barn owl banked and flew right into her room. Slinking away from the thing, Zinn watched as it dropped a letter from its talons before soaring right back out the window and away from Privet Drive.

Lucky bird.

Stooping, she picked up the letter, finding the envelope to be made of crisp white parchment paper, the old fancy stuff that Biscuits liked to use for her scrapbooking. It was actually sealed with purple wax, bearing a stylized 'M' set into it. Did wizards send letters by owl? That was kind of weird. Turning it over, she saw her own name in curly green lettering:

Zinnia Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
Number 4, Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey

She tore the envelope open to reveal a precisely trifold letter, which she scanned.

Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Official Correspondence

Head of Department
Arthur Weasley

Dear Miss Potter,

Further to Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) involvement in your recovery (Case # DN43001), this department is obligated to inform you that the Memory Charm was placed upon the following individuals:

Charlotte "Biscuits" MacGregor

Madison "Mads" Ellington

Declan Cage

Devon "Devo" Palmer

Greta "Chippy" Seward

Per these measures, the aforementioned muggles will have no memory of you or your association with them. Please be aware that further contact with these individuals is advised to be kept to a minimum and that any attempt to inform them of your prior association with them or the existence of magic will be considered a violation of the Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your summer.

Alastor Gumboil

Deputy Commissioner
Magical Law Enforcement Patrol

Zinn could only stare at the letter for a long moment, hands shaking as it began to swim in her vision. Memory Charm? Did that mean…Biscuits didn't remember her anymore? They could do that? But… Biscuits couldn't forget her. All of their walks about the city, all of their late-night chats, all of their discussions of all things from music to color theory. Every time Declan had brought her a new comic and actually sat to discuss it with her; Chippy and her uncanny ability to relate anything back to gardening and give surprisingly excellent advice; Devo and Mads and their occasional soft moments where they chased off some bloke acting creepily toward Zinn.

All of that was…gone. Little more than something her imagination had cooked up.

She was alone.

Yeah, so.

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